


Extraction

by zathara001



Series: Errand of Mercy [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-29 09:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14469495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: When G and Sam don't return from an overseas mission, Natasha and Michelle have to extract them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first draft of this was completed before I saw "Avengers: Infinity War." I knew going in that this was AU, but wow, is it ever AU. Not that the series wasn't, anyway, but this story is most definitely AU and therefore non-canon compliant.
> 
> As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the respective creators of both canons.

Natasha Romanoff could count on her fingers the number of times she'd knocked on someone's door and have fingers left over. At least until now, she amended the thought as she rapped on the door before her.

 

Now, she was seeing G Callen somewhat regularly. She amended that thought, too. She was seeing G Callen regularly enough to have met his partner, Sam Hanna, and Sam's wife and children, and to sometimes get together with said partner and said partner's family, as she was tonight.

 

G - her Raven - and Sam were due back from an undercover operation in Eastern Europe, and Michelle Hanna had offered to make dinner for all of them before they went on a wine-tasting trip to Temecula the next day. Natasha understood the offer, from both sides of the operation. For Michelle - and her, if she were typical - it was a way to show affection and love for the returning operators. For G and Sam, it was a return to normal life.

 

Even if, as G had told her, Michelle's casseroles fell somewhat short of exacting culinary standards.

 

The Michelle Hanna who opened the door wasn't the one Natasha had been expecting. The Michelle she expected was calm and in control. The Michelle she faced now had a frantic, worried expression.

 

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked immediately.

 

"Sam and G didn't return on schedule," Michelle said. "And they haven't checked in. I'm on my way in to NCIS for the details."

 

"I'll come with you," Natasha offered immediately, thanking whatever gods might ever have existed for the training that kept her voice calm and her expression neutral, even as her heart thudded with fear. _Something's happened to my Raven._

 

Michelle's expression slid into relief so quickly Natasha almost missed the transition. "Thank you."

 

"The kids?" Natasha asked reflexively. While she wasn't as close to Aiden and Kamran Hanna as she was to Cooper and Lila Barton, let alone her namesake baby Nathaniel, Natasha would always protect the children if she could.

 

"Aiden can keep an eye on Kamran for a few hours," Michelle said.

 

Though her stomach tightened as if she readied for battle, Natasha could only nod an agreement and follow the other woman to her car.

 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 

Despite L.A.'s infamous - no, make that hellacious - traffic, forty-five minutes later, Natasha followed Michelle into a condemned building of old Spanish Mission architecture.

 

Natasha looked around at the cracked stucco and the signage suggesting the building had been condemned. "Really."

 

Michelle's smile, however weak, was reward enough. "It's like _The Purloined Letter_ \- hide in plain sight. Believe me, the building's not really ready to fall apart."

 

"I believe you." But it did raise the question of how an agent's wife would be given access to so secret a base.

 

Natasha shoved that question aside. Now wasn't the time for that particular set of questions. Without further comment, she followed Michelle into the building - where they were met almost immediately by Kensi Blye and Marty Deeks, the final two members of G's and Sam's team. Their expressions grim, they still managed to offer greetings.

 

"Hetty's waiting for you in Ops," Kensi said as soon as the basic niceties were done. "This way."

 

"I remember," Michelle said, but allowed the other woman to lead the way. Natasha followed them both up the stairs, Marty Deeks pacing her.

 

"Bella, right?" Deeks asked, and Natasha only nodded. The name would do for now.

 

"I didn't realize you and Callen were close," Deeks offered.

 

"Close enough," Natasha replied, and quickened her pace so that she walked into Ops in step with Michelle. She didn't mean to be rude, but if Michelle Hanna were worried, she was … concerned.

 

Natasha's quick survey of the room revealed two people she already knew - Hetty Lange and Eric Beale - a redheaded woman who seemed to be surgically attached to Beale - based on G's description, she must be Nell Jones - and a handful of other staff members, all of whom fairly hummed with tension.

 

"Michelle." Hetty Lange approached them, then fixed Natasha with a frown. "Bella."

 

"She got to the house just as I got your call," Michelle said. "And it concerns her, too."

 

Natasha would bet good money that Hetty knew who she really was. For now, though, Natasha kept her cover. "Ms. Lange."

 

"I prefer _Miss_ ," Hetty said. "But that's hardly important in the circumstance."

 

"What is the circumstance?" Michelle asked.

 

"Some time ago," Hetty said, "we began tracking suspected terrorist activity in Southeastern Europe. The details of that are not relevant. What is relevant is that five days ago, we heard a rumor from a reliable source that a shipment of weapons would be running from Ukraine through Constanta, Romania, and then via ship through the Bosporus, and across the Mediterranean to Tunis."

 

"How does that fall within NCIS's mandate?" Michelle asked.

 

Hetty's expression turned even graver, if that were possible. "Agent Callen was tapped to confirm that rumor by questioning a suspect and then working assets in the region to stop the shipment. Agent Hanna went as his backup."

 

"Why?" Natasha couldn't help asking. "Surely there were other agencies, other agents, who could do the job."

 

"But none who speak Romanian and Romani fluently," Hetty said. "Let alone with a native accent, as Mr. Callen does."

 

Natasha concealed her surprise - she hadn't known her Raven spoke those languages. Then again, he didn't know all the languages she spoke, either, so she supposed that was only fair.

 

"And?" Michelle prompted.

 

"It was a straightforward mission," Hetty continued. "But they failed to check in last night and again this morning. When we attempted to contact them, their phones went straight to voice mail, and their GPS trackers had been disabled."

 

Natasha's lips pressed together. She knew what that most likely meant.

 

"We scoured all intelligence networks and spoke with our contacts in Romania," Hetty said. "None of them have any information other than Agents Callen and Hanna met with their contacts as planned."

 

"So who's gone in to extract them?" Michelle asked. "CIA? SEALs?"

 

Hetty's expression turned even more grim. "No one."

 

Only Natasha's reflexes stopped Michelle's lunge toward Hetty. Thankfully, the other woman didn't fight back. Natasha would hate to have to disable her over an emotion Natasha herself felt, however surprised she was at the professionalism of Michelle's movements.

 

"What do you mean," Michelle asked, her tone low and dangerous, her body still tense where Natasha held her, " _no one_?"

 

"Precisely what I said," Hetty answered. "It is not my choice, I assure you. The orders to stand down came from SECNAV through SECDEF and, if rumor is to be believed, originated with SECSTATE himself."

 

 _SECSTATE._ The word echoed in Natasha's mind. Secretary of State Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross - the man who had pushed the Sokovia Accords through without even pretending to follow established parliamentary procedure or Constitutional precedent - had ordered NCIS to stand down when two of its own were threatened.

 

_So much for never leave a man behind._

 

"You can't tell me you're abandoning them." Michelle sounded desperate, but under control, so Natasha cautiously released her grip on the other woman.

 

"I am truly, deeply sorry, but my hands are tied," Hetty said.

 

Natasha was already running several possible plans in her mind when Hetty spoke again.

 

"Fortunately, before I received those orders, I managed to get word to a friend that Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna might need some assistance."

 

"What _friend_ might that be?" Michelle demanded.

 

Hetty's expression lightened, just a little. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

 

 _Gibbs._ Natasha recognized the name. G had spoken of him once or twice and considered the man a friend - or at least as much of a friend as G allowed anyone to become.

 

"Who?" Michelle asked.

 

"Another NCIS agent and a former Marine sniper, whom Mr. Callen has worked with in the past," Hetty replied. "He should be landing in Bucharest as we speak and will make his way to Constanta as soon as he can."

 

"One man won't be enough," Natasha observed, and felt both Michelle's and Hetty's gazes on her.

 

"No." Hetty's voice was full of regret. "But it was all I could manage."


	2. Chapter 2

For all the advantages the mission-style building had, quiet rooms to talk unheard and uninterrupted were not one of them.

 

Instead, Michelle and Natasha had been escorted to an armory to gather themselves after the news Hetty had delivered.

 

Natasha waited until their escort - Kensi - had left before turning to Michelle. The other woman scowled down at a workbench for a long moment, then slammed her fists into the bench with a, " _Goddammit_."

 

"Michelle?" Natasha approached cautiously, as she would a wounded animal, but Michelle's frustration appeared to be spent.

 

When Michelle spoke, all she said was, "I don't understand why Secretary Ross would make that call."

 

"I might," Natasha said softly as puzzle pieces fell into place.

 

"Why?" Michelle demanded.

 

Natasha turned to face her. "Because I asked Ra - Callen for a favor a while ago. That favor might have been discovered, and might have put him onto Ross' radar."

 

"Tell me." Michelle's words were lined in steel, and Natasha could only tell her everything.

 

"You know I'm an operator," she said.

 

"And a good one, given the way G talks about you."

 

"I'm also an Avenger."

 

Michelle blinked once, twice, and then her expression cleared.

 

"The Black Widow," Michelle breathed.

 

Natasha nodded once. Then, "I asked Callen to get Hawkeye's wife and children safely out of the country."

 

"Why? They didn't do anything wrong."

 

"No, but they could be used as leverage against him," Natasha said. "I couldn't allow that to happen."

 

"Why G?"

 

"Because Cl- Hawkeye and I worked with him in Budapest a long time ago," Natasha said. "I knew I could trust him to do the right thing and get them to safety before anyone found out about them, and he was far enough outside the Avengers' orbit that no one should suspect him."

 

"You think Ross knows what he did."

 

"I wouldn't put it past him," Natasha answered evenly. "But that's pure speculation."

 

"Speculation or not," Michelle muttered, "our men are in danger, and nobody's doing anything about it."

 

"I wouldn't say _nobody_ ," Natasha countered, plans already running through her mind. Michelle started, just a little, before smiling grimly.

 

"What do you have in mind?"

 

"First, I'll call Stark and see what he can find out," Natasha said. "His careless remark is why I asked Callen to get Hawkeye's family out of the country in the first place, so he owes me. Then I'll go to Romania and get our men."

 

"Not alone, you won't."

 

Natasha understood the sentiment, but the last thing she needed was a civilian trying to play hero in the field. "Michelle, I appreciate that you want to help, but -"

 

"But nothing," Michelle cut her off, her tone as sharp as her expression. "I'm an operator, too, and I'm going with you."

 

Natasha blinked. That was one piece of information her Raven hadn't shared with her. "You are?"

 

"I was. CIA."

 

Natasha found herself smiling at the other woman. No wonder she'd felt a kinship with her.

 

"Let's go hunting," she said.

 

Michelle grinned a predator's grin, but then her expression fell. "Aiden and Kamran can't be on their own that long. And the two of us won't be enough, either, even with Gibbs."

 

Natasha smiled. On this, at least, she could offer the simple truth. "I've got it covered."

 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 

"When you said you had it covered, I wasn't expecting a private jet."

 

Natasha smiled at Michelle's astonished tone as she finished filing pre-flight plans with the control tower at the private airstrip where she'd landed when she arrived in Los Angeles.

 

"That's not just a jet, Mom," Michelle's son Aiden said. "That's a quinjet, like the Avengers use."

 

"Not quite," Natasha said. "This one doesn't have weapons. It's built for speed."

 

The word seemed to shake Michelle from her contemplation of the jet. "Right. Aiden, get your bag. Let's go, Kam."

 

Thirty minutes later, they were airborne. Not for the first time, Natasha wished the Superhero Civil War had gone differently. If it had … well. In the moment, her biggest regret was that Clint Barton wasn't sitting in the pilot seat of a borrowed quinjet. She could handle an aircraft, but the spatial awareness that made Clint such an amazing archer also made him a gifted, if not brilliant, pilot.

 

Still, Natasha supposed she'd handle the quinjet well enough on this flight to Wakanda. For now, she just had to climb high enough to avoid the major airlines and military flights before engaging the autopilot.

 

Michelle climbed into the co-pilot's seat.

 

Natasha glanced at her. "You should be sitting down."

 

"No flight attendant to make me stay in my seat," Michelle countered, and Natasha had to chuckle.

 

"So," Michelle looked out at the cobalt sky before them, "now that you've got the transportation, mind telling me where we're going?"

 

Natasha knew she'd have to answer the question eventually, but her first instinct was to deflect and evade. "How are the kids?"

 

"Settled, as much as they can be," Michelle replied. "Excited, scared, nervous, but settled for now. Don't avoid the question."

 

Natasha confirmed the course heading, made a minor adjustment. "We're going to Wakanda."

 

"Wakanda?" Michelle stared at her. " _Why?_ "

 

"Because I know they'll be safe there if anything happens to us."

 

She knew Michelle would understand what she wasn't saying - that this mission to rescue G and Sam had every chance in the world of going wrong, and they'd be lucky to get out alive, let alone rescue their men.

 

"How can you be sure?" It was a mother's concern, and Natasha was glad she could answer it.

 

"Because my partner's wife and kids are there."

 

"Your partner, too?"

 

"At the moment. I'm expecting he'll come with us, though."

 

"Hawkeye, right?" Michelle asked, and Natasha nodded. After a moment, Michelle sighed. "I can't argue with your reasoning. It's just so far from everything they know."

 

"It's the best option I see." Natasha leveled the quinjet and set the auto-pilot before shifting in her seat to look at the other woman. "If Sam and G were taken for personal reasons, that makes Sam's children - your children - a target, as well. Best thing to do is take them out of play."

 

Michelle nodded, her lips thinning. "I can't argue with that, even if I'm not sure about Wakanda. It's so … primitive."

 

Natasha could only smile at that. The other woman would see for herself soon enough. For now, though, Natasha nodded toward the rear of the jet.

 

"Almost nineteen hours before we arrive. Sleep if you can."

 

"What about you?"

 

"I'll phone ahead, let them know we're coming. Then I'll be right behind you."

 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 

It was late afternoon when they approached Wakanda's capital. Natasha concealed a smile when Michelle gasped at the view before them - a city far more impressive than Nairobi or Cape Town - but couldn't help teasing the other woman, just a little.

 

"I'm sorry it's so primitive."

 

Michelle glared at her. "Very funny."

 

Natasha followed the instructions given to her and landed the quinjet on a rooftop pad somewhat larger than the ones typically used for helicopters. It wasn't her first trip to Wakanda since the Accords, so she wasn't too surprised that they were given clearance to land at the palace.

 

As soon as she'd killed the engine, Michelle made her way to the rear of the jet where Aiden and Kamran waited.

 

"Disembark," the female voice in Natasha's ear said. "Wait at the base of the ramp. You will be met."

 

"Acknowledged." Natasha secured the cockpit and went to the rear of the jet to help Michelle with the children. They'd been surprisingly good during the flight, but now that they'd landed, little Kamran seemed to have reached her limit and had started crying quietly.

 

Michelle was cuddling Kamran, so Natasha collected Aiden. The young man gathered his gear and his sister's despite the fatigue in his expression. Natasha grabbed her and Michelle's go-bags, and used her elbow to release the quinjet hatch.

 

Whatever reception Natasha might have expected, Lila's cry of, "Auntie Nat!" wasn't it. Natasha dropped both bags just in time to catch Clint's daughter into a hug.

 

Then it was a flurry of introductions - Clint, Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel had all come to meet the jet, and Natasha introduced the Hannas to all of them, taking Nathaniel from Laura to hold him on her hip.

 

He might not have been a Natasha like she'd hoped, but he was still her namesake, and she loved him.

 

"Do you like dolls?" Lila asked Kamran.

 

Kamran nodded shyly, and Lila grinned.

 

"I have a doll that walks. Come see!" And then the two girls were gone, disappeared inside the building.

 

Michelle started to call after them, but Laura put a hand on her arm.

 

"It's okay," Laura told her. "Lila will take her to her room, that's all. And with all the guards, they'll be safe."

 

"Guards?" Michelle repeated, frowning as she surveyed the area. Natasha saw the recognition flicker in her eyes as she spotted the Dora Milaje. Michelle might not know who they were exactly, but as a CIA operative she'd recognize trained guards when she saw them.

 

"The king's personal guards," Clint put in. "No one will get past them."

 

"More to the point," a new voice put in, and Natasha turned to nod a greeting to Steve Rogers, "Lila has a biometric bracelet that won't let her get into anyplace she shouldn't, nor go outside the palace without an escort."

 

"Thank you, Captain." Michelle obviously recognized him. Natasha was privately impressed that she kept her voice neutral.

 

"Are you really a captain?" Aiden asked. "My instructor said you were a private."

 

"Aiden!" Michelle exclaimed. "Don't be rude."

 

"It's a valid question, ma'am," Steve replied before meeting Aiden's challenging gaze with a calm one of his own. "And the answer is yes. A brevet promotion at first, but I received my official commission before the _Valkyrie_."

 

"Huh." Aiden considered that for a moment, and Natasha could only hope he was learning a healthy disrespect for authority. Yes, the orders from those in authority had to be followed - most of the time - but those in authority were still only human.

 

"Cooper," Clint said, "take Kamran's bag down, will you? You can show Aiden where their rooms are while you're at it."

 

"Sure," Cooper said, then darted in to give Natasha a quick hug - one she couldn't return thanks to the toddler in her arms - before jerking his head toward the door where the girls had gone. "C'mon, it's this way."

 

Still Aiden lingered, looking to his mother. Michelle smiled. "It's okay."

 

"You'll bring Dad back, right?" Aiden asked.

 

"Absolutely." Michelle met her son's gaze, and Natasha knew that both of them were aware it was a promise that might not be kept.

 

Then Aiden hugged Michelle, tight, and grabbed his bag to follow Cooper, and it was just the five of them on the landing pad - Natasha, with Nathaniel still on her hip, Michelle, Laura, Clint, and Steve.

 

Clint looked at Natasha. "You want help getting her husband back?"

 

Natasha nodded. "And his partner - Callen."

 

"Callen?" Laura sobered immediately and turned to Clint. "You know you have to go."

 

"Yeah." Clint looked at Michelle. "I'd help even if it was just your husband, but Callen - I owe him."

 

"I don't care why," Michelle said. "Just that you are. He and Sam didn't check in with their office two days ago."

 

"That's a long time." Clint's tone was grim.

 

"There's someone on the ground in Romania already," Natasha told him.

 

"Amateur?" Clint asked.

 

"NCIS agent," Michelle said. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Hetty Lange sent him."

 

Clint's eyebrows shot up. "Hetty Lange? You mean Henrietta Lange?"

 

"Who's Henrietta Lange?" Steve asked, his brows furrowed.

 

"Think Nick Fury, but four foot nine and slightly more polite," Natasha said, and Steve's lips twitched.

 

"That's - quite an image."

 

"She has the reputation to back it up," Clint said. "I'll get my gear and we can go."


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha didn't blink when Clint didn't return alone. Beside him strode Steve Rogers. Like Clint, he was in civilian clothes. Both men carried bags that presumably held their gear.

 

Beside her, Michelle Hanna stiffened. "Were you expecting -?"

 

"No," Natasha admitted. "But I'm not surprised. Rogers is a good man."

 

Still, Michelle stepped forward to meet him. "I can't ask you t0 -"

 

Steve smiled. "You're not asking, ma'am. I met Agent Callen when he brought Clint's family here. It's the right thing to do."

 

"Don't argue, Michelle," Natasha said softly. "He's stubborn. And we can use his help."

 

Michelle blew out a breath and managed a smile. "I don't mean to be rude, Captain."

 

"You're not," Steve assured her. "You're worried. Perfectly understandable. Shall we?"

 

"Ever the gentleman, Rogers," Natasha murmured and preceded him onto the quinjet.

 

Then she was in the co-pilot's seat, Clint next to her, and the familiarity of the positions was more comforting than she wanted to admit.

 

"So," he said. "You and Callen."

 

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He said it as a statement of fact, not as something he needed confirmation for. She finished the pre-flight check and said, "How did you figure it out?"

 

"Michelle."

 

It took a moment for the pieces to fall into place, then Natasha shook her head. "I already knew her, which meant I've spent enough time with Callen to meet not just his partner, but his partner's family."

 

"Very good." Clint threw her a wicked grin, then sobered as he leveled the quinjet out. "Serious?"

 

"Serious enough."

 

"Huh." Clint studied her for a moment. "I guess I figured you and Cap."

 

"Oh, no," Natasha replied. "I didn't need to try to lift Thor's hammer, and I don't need to try to measure up to Steve Rogers."

 

Clint chuckled. "Guess it's my turn to give Callen a shovel talk when we get him back."

 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 

Locating Agent Gibbs turned out to be easier than Natasha had expected, from simply asking Hetty Lange for a photo and contact information for the man to, when he didn't answer his phone, tracking him to a hotel near the beach thanks to a check of government-approved hotels.

 

The hotel Gibbs had selected was clean but had no amenities beyond a basic breakfast and wi-fi service. It certainly wouldn't be a draw for families, except in the busiest of seasons when other fancier hotels were fully booked.

 

Thankfully, it was the end of summer, so the hotel wasn't fully booked. Natasha booked two more rooms for herself and her companions, merely raising an eyebrow when the check-in attendant gave the party a speculative look.

 

"What now?" Michelle asked after they'd collected their room keys and stepped away from the desk to talk quietly.

 

"Have you met Gibbs?" Natasha asked.

 

"No. Sam told me about the one time they worked a case together, but that's it."

 

"So calling him's right out," Clint observed. "We'll have to wait until he gets back. There's a bar over there, we can watch for him."

 

They'd barely taken three steps toward the bar when Steve stopped. "I can't go in."

 

"Why not?" Michelle demanded.

 

"This hotel's been standing since before the war," Steve said. "And they have some war memorabilia on the walls. Including pictures."

 

Natasha got it, even if she couldn't see the pictures he'd seen. "Of you."

 

"I'll wait in the room," Steve said.

 

Clint flicked a glance at Natasha, then said, "I'll wait with you. No sense drawing attention to any of us until we have to."

 

Steve gave a mock groan. "You're not going to try to teach me more card tricks."

 

Clint grinned and started toward the stairs. "Nah. Just a friendly game of poker."

 

"I suck at poker." Steve's voice trailed off as he followed Clint.

 

"Does he really?" Michelle asked as she and Natasha moved toward the bar.

 

"Couldn't bluff his way out of a paper bag," Natasha said. "We all agreed to penny ante. Otherwise, he'd be broke."

 

Michelle laughed, and Natasha was glad for that. This mission was too stressful, too personal, for both of them. A moment's levity sometimes would help them stay focused.

 

"Wine?" Natasha asked as Michelle selected a seat at a table that gave a good view of the lobby.

 

Michelle appeared to debate the question. "One glass. White, whatever they have."

 

"Sweet?"

 

"Dry."

 

Natasha quirked her lip in an almost smile. "I knew there's a reason we get along."

 

Minutes later, she approached Michelle with two glasses of _Feteasc_ _ă_ _Regal_ _ă_ and took the chair to Michelle's right. Her view of the lobby wasn't quite as good as Michelle's would be, but it would be enough.

 

Michelle stared at her glass for long moments, then looked up to meet Natasha's gaze. "It feels strange to sit here with a glass of wine while God only knows what's happening to Sam."

 

Natasha took a sip of her wine and regarded her … friend? Maybe. If she let herself have friends, besides the Bartons and her Raven … seriously. "You're an operative. You know the importance of gathering intel before acting."

 

"I do," Michelle agreed. "It's just never been Sam's life on the line before. Not like this."

 

"We'll get them back," Natasha said, and Tony Stark's words during the Chitauri invasion came back to her. "Or if we can't, we'll damn well avenge them."

 

Michelle started at the vehemence in Natasha's tone, then smiled grimly. "Yes," she said. "We will."

 

One hour and a game of rock, paper, scissors (to decide which one of them got to handle a too-pushy guy trying to pick them both up) later, Michelle straightened.

 

"That's him," she said.

 

Natasha followed the other woman's gaze and, yes, that was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. If the silver hair hadn't confirmed his identity, the man's near-military posture and air of command would have.

 

Natasha finished the last of her wine and followed Michelle as she approached the other man.

 

"Agent Gibbs," Michelle said.

 

He turned to face them, icy blue eyes sparkling, and said in Russian, "I don't know what you mean."

 

Natasha smiled and answered in the same language, "I'm certain you do. Just as I'm certain you've been hunting for Agents Callen and Hanna."

 

Those blue eyes blinked, and Natasha's lip twitched. She switched to English. "This is Michelle Hanna, Agent Hanna's wife."

 

"And you are?" Gibbs asked.

 

"A friend of Callen's. As, I'm told, are you."

 

"We should continue this somewhere more private," Gibbs said.

 

"We have rooms upstairs," Michelle said.

 

"Lead the way."

 

Michelle started toward the stairs. Gibbs made an after-you gesture, but Natasha only smiled. "I insist."

 

"Flanking," Gibbs said. "Good tactics."

 

But he followed Michelle, and Natasha fell into step behind him.

 

Natasha only wished she'd been in front of Gibbs so she could see his face when Michelle opened the door to one of the rooms they'd gotten to find Clint facing them with an arrow nocked and his bow drawn.

 

"It's okay," Michelle said. "We found him."

 

"Yeah, I can see that." Clint lowered his weapon and offered his hand. "Clint Barton."

 

"Gibbs." The two men shook hands, and Gibbs looked over his shoulder at Natasha. "Another friend of Callen's?"

 

"I owe him," was all Clint said.

 

"Brief me," Gibbs said.

 

"Actually, you're supposed to be briefing us," Clint pointed out. "What you've found about Callen and Hanna, that sort of thing."

 

"Why you?" Gibbs countered. "Why not an NCIS team, or the CIA?"

 

"They've been ordered to stand down," Michelle said, and Natasha assumed it was fury that made her voice shake, not fear. "Orders from SECSTATE himself."

 

"So we went outside the box," Natasha said, her sentence punctuated by the sound of a flushing toilet from the next room. She quirked an eyebrow at Clint.

 

" _Storceag_ didn't agree with him," Clint said, and Natasha had to hide a smile. "He should be back to normal now."

 

The bathroom door opened. "I _like_ _storceag_ ," Steve said as he emerged from the room. "They used bad fish."

 

"Likely story," Clint teased, but Steve's attention had focused on their guest.

 

"Agent Gibbs." Steve offered his hand. "Steve Rogers."

 

Gibbs recovered quickly, Natasha gave him credit for that. He offered his hand. "An honor, Captain. You're a friend of Callen's, too?"

 

"Not really," Steve answered, shaking Gibbs' hand. "But he did the right thing for a mutual friend. I'm happy to help him however I can. What have you learned so far?"

 

"Nothing good," Gibbs replied. "I reached out to some contacts and found out that Callen and Hanna were detained at the request of our Secretary of State."

 

Steve's lips thinned. "Ross."

 

Natasha blew out a breath. "So it is my fault."

 

"Don't, Nat," Clint ordered. "Just don't. I would've asked him if I'd thought of it." He managed a half-grin. "You always were the brains of our partnership."

 

"So there's nothing we can do." Michelle's tone was as bleak as a Siberian winter. "Not if the Secretary of State's involved."

 

"There's more," Gibbs said before anyone could move to offer Michelle any comfort.

 

"What?" Natasha asked. One benefit of being Russian was that she expected the other shoe to drop. It always did.

 

"Three days ago," Gibbs said, "a man called Mihai Vadim, some political bigwig, ordered that Callen and Hanna be handed over to him."

 

" _Why?_ " Michelle sounded stricken, and Natasha rested a hand on the other woman's shoulder. It was the only comfort either of them could afford right now.

 

"I don't know." The admission seemed torn from Gibbs, confirming Natasha's suspicion that this was a man who liked to be in charge, or at least in control, and who hated not to be.

 

"Who is this Agent Callen?" Steve asked.

 

Michelle snorted. "Good question. He was in the foster system, in and out of foster homes. Thirty-seven between ages five and eighteen. He doesn't even know what the G stands for."

 

"He knows a little more than that," Natasha said slowly. "I don't know that any of it is relevant now, though."

 

"We don't know that it's not," Gibbs pointed out. "Tell us."

 

Natasha turned the request - though he'd phrased it as an order - over in her mind. G, her Raven, had told her things in private moments, things that she suspected he never told even Sam Hanna. What right did she have to reveal those now?

 

Then again, keeping his secrets might cost his life.

 

Viewed in that light, there was only one choice Natasha could make.

 

"Callen's family is the object of a blood feud by the Comescu family that dates back to World War Two," she said.

 

"The Second World War?" Steve took a step forward. "What happened?"

 

"After your time, Rogers," Natasha said. Then she met Michelle's eyes. "I don't know how much of this even Sam knows."

 

"He won't hear it from me," Michelle promised.

 

"Or me," Gibbs added. "But if it'll help us save them, we need to know."

 

Natasha took a breath and let it out on a silent prayer to gods she'd been taught not to believe in, asking for the wisdom to say the right thing, and for the forgiveness of the man whose trust she betrayed. Then she spoke. "Callen's grandfather was OSS."

 

"Precursor to the CIA," Michelle said.

 

Natasha nodded an acknowledgement, then continued, "After the war, he hunted war criminals. He found several, including members of the Comescu family."

 

"What's special about the Comescus?" Gibbs asked.

 

"Nothing," Natasha said, "aside from their penchant for human trafficking and, ultimately, loan sharking on a global scale. And their blood feud with Callen's family."

 

"And this has anything to do with Mihai Vadim?" Michelle asked, her tone impatient now that they were so close to action.

 

"It does." Clint looked up from the tablet computer he held. "The Vadims are cousins to the Comescus."

 

Natasha swore softly in Russian, not surprised when Gibbs echoed her, nor even when Michelle did. That Steve Rogers echoed her told her that this had likely gotten more serious than she'd planned for.

 

"Do we know where they're holding them?" Steve asked.

 

"On a remote military base, as far as my contact knows," Gibbs replied. "Beyond that, he wasn't sure."

 

"So we'll have to incapacitate them all," Natasha said.

 

"Incapacitate, Nat," Steve reminded her. "Not kill."

 

"If they're hurting either Callen or Sam," Natasha said, "no promises."

 

"How are we going to play this?" Clint looked to Steve, and Natasha wanted to be annoyed, but Clint was right. Steve was the best tactician of the three of them, after all.

 

Steve stared at the floor for long moments, and Natasha hid a smile at the frown creasing his forehead.

 

"As quietly as we can," Steve said finally. "Nat, Clint and I will distract the soldiers and secure the base while Gibbs and Michelle search for Agents Callen and Hanna."

 

Natasha wanted to argue, to say that she should go with Michelle, but she knew Steve was right. Michelle was, Natasha assumed, a competent fighter, but she wasn't Avenger-level, and she'd need to be Avenger-level to keep up with Clint, let alone Steve. So, much as Natasha wanted to go straight to her Raven by the shortest route possible … this time, as so many others, she had to do what was right, not what she wanted.

 

"When?" Gibbs asked.

 

"Now."


	4. Chapter 4

There had been three times in G Callen's life when he'd thought he was done, there was no way out of this situation, and he was going to meet his Maker far sooner than he would have liked. The first time had been when one of his foster-fathers beat his foster-brother to death, and G turned on him fully expecting to die with his foster-brother.

 

The second had been on a street corner in Venice Beach, when five slugs slammed into his chest and he'd thought Sam's repeated mantra, _Stay with me, G, don't do this. Stay with me_ , would be the last thing he'd ever hear.

 

Tonight, with Mihai Vadim taking sadistic glee in torturing both him and then, when he didn't scream loudly enough for Mihai's liking, turning on Sam, was the third.

 

For the moment, however, Vadim and his henchmen-thug assistants had let them be - no doubt while he went looking for more interesting methods of torture.

 

G knew he should be trying to escape, somehow, but Vadim was annoyingly thorough. He'd had his thugs strip G and Sam down to their skivvies before securing them to bunk beds in what appeared to be an abandoned barracks building and making them stand in tubs of ice water.

 

Gags to ensure their cries didn't disturb anyone who might be outside completed Vadim's basic preparations.

 

Then the real fun had started - electroshocks, asphyxiation, beatings. At least, G thought with grim humor, they hadn't progressed to mutilation or rape yet. He only hoped he could force them to kill him and Sam before it came to that.

 

For now, though, Vadim and his henchmen-thugs had given them a break - actually let them have a little water before they'd strolled off, musing amongst themselves as to what they would do to G and Sam next. Just loudly enough for G and Sam to overhear, of course.

 

"Sam," G croaked when the door closed behind Vadim. "Still with me?"

 

"Still here." Sam's voice was low and raspy, but at least Sam could still talk.

 

"Anything broken?" G asked.

 

"Don't think so," Sam answered. "Maybe a cracked rib or three."

 

G understood what Sam didn't say - he was in pain, but still functional. Now all G had to do was pick the locks on their handcuffs … except the bobby pin he always carried had been taken away with his jeans. But he'd gotten himself out of worse situations. He could get himself and Sam out of this, too.

 

Somehow. He was still considering that question when he passed out.

 

"You hear that?" Sam's question roused him some indeterminate time later.

 

"Huh?" G forced his awareness back to the present at his partner's question. A sharp, staccato beat sounded outside their prison. His pain-addled brain offered, "Thunderstorm?"

 

"Maybe." Sam didn't sound convinced - but then, Sam could look out the window on a sunny day and sound doubtful that the sky was blue.

 

G left his partner to figure out what the noise was, while he focused on flexing and shifting the muscles in his wrists and hands. Vadim's thugs had been quick and efficient when they bound him, but he'd kept the muscles of his forearms flexed when the ties went around them. It didn't result in much give, but with any luck he'd be able to relax the muscles of his hands, maybe dislocate his thumbs, and free himself.

 

Once he did, there would be hell to pay.

 

G concentrated on flexing and shifting the muscles in his hands and forearms, so much so that the thunderstorm outside faded to the edges of his awareness.

 

"G."

 

Sam's voice barely registered.

 

"G!"

 

"Hunh? _What_?" G snapped. He'd been _this close_ to slipping his bonds when Sam's voice cut into his concentration.

 

"I'm hallucinating."

 

That was bad. "What do you see, Sam?"

 

" _Michelle._ "

 

The reverence, the love in Sam's tone made G turn his head so he could see his partner. Sam's gaze was focused toward the front of the room, and G followed his line of sight.

 

Only to swallow, his throat dry, at what he saw. Michelle Hanna was there, all right, efficiently knocking out one of the guards Vadim had left at the doorway. And she wasn't alone.

 

"Sam?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"You're not hallucinating."

 

Sam snorted. "I have to be."

 

"You're not."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"Because I might hallucinate Michelle myself," G said. "But there's no way in hell I'd hallucinate Gibbs."

 

"Gibbs?" Sam craned his neck, obviously hoping for a better angle to observe the brief, almost-silent scuffle at the doorway.

 

Then Michelle was rushing toward them. "Sam!"

 

G had to smile when she peppered Sam's face with kisses - even if the sight just brought his own lack in that regard into stark relief.

 

Then Michelle was reaching to cut the zip-ties holding Sam's wrists, and Gibbs barked, " _No_."

 

"What do you mean, _no_?" Michelle retorted, her tone low and deadly, and a part of G wondered what the over-under was on how long it would take before one or the other was unconscious on the ground.

 

"I mean _no_ ," Gibbs said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. "Not yet, anyway. Move."

 

"Do it," Sam said. "He has to take pictures."

 

"Pictures?" Michelle looked confused, and while Sam explained that the pictures would be evidence of what had happened to them, G found himself shaking his head at Gibbs' fumbling with his phone.

 

"Help him, Michelle," G said. "Please. I'd rather not hang here all day while Jethro figures out the phone he's had for … three years now?"

 

"Not my fault the damn things are too complicated," Gibbs snapped, then looked surprised as Michelle body-checked him away from Sam - and therefore closer to G.

 

Gibbs glanced down G's body, assessing, then met G's gaze. "Sitrep?"

 

"Broken rib or two, maybe a couple of other hairline fractures," G reported. "Could be some internal bleeding, not sure. Maybe frostbite on my feet from too long in ice water."

 

"You can cut Sam down now," Michelle said. "Smile for the camera, G."

 

"No pictures of our faces," G said as Gibbs pulled a knife from his pocket and started to cut Sam's zip-ties.

 

"Always a pleasure to save a lifeguard's ass," Gibbs murmured, and Sam snorted.

 

Then Sam was laughing, actually laughing, and G turned his head to stare at his partner. Had it been too much? Had something inside Sam snapped?

 

"Tell yourself what you want, Jarhead," Sam said. "But I know the truth. _Captain America_ saved my ass."

 

Captain America? G blinked once, twice, then his head snapped around toward the barracks door. Yes, there was Captain America, striding in as though he owned the place. G's pulse raced. If he were here, then maybe, just maybe, Natasha was, too.

 

"Done." Michelle snapped Gibbs' phone shut and started to hand it back to him before she realized that Gibbs was busy supporting Sam with one arm and offering her his knife with his free hand.

 

"Don't think I'm not grateful for the support, Gibbs," Sam said, "but you're not really who I want my arms around right now."

 

By the time they'd juggled positions again, Captain America had joined them.

 

"Callen," he said.

 

"Captain." G tried to look past his bulk, but Steve Rogers was a commanding figure - in or out of uniform. G barely felt Gibbs cutting the ties securing his legs to the lower bunk.

 

"Clint and Natasha are tracking Vadim," Steve informed them, as though he intuited the question on G's mind. Hell, G thought, he probably had. "He bolted as soon as the bullets started flying."

 

G found himself smiling. She was here - Natasha, his Bella, was here. Then Gibbs was cutting his arms free, and G's legs gave way under him.

 

Gibbs wasn't fast enough to keep him from collapsing, but Steve Rogers was. G found himself supported between them.

 

"There's a hospital not far," Gibbs was saying.

 

"Can they be trusted?" Michelle asked.

 

"What other choice is there?" Gibbs countered, but G stopped paying attention to the conversation because he'd seen a glimpse of red hair - or he hoped it was red hair. He struggled to focus, and, finally, yes, his vision resolved into Natasha as she and Clint none-too-gently escorted Mihai Vadim back into the barracks.

 

He was smiling when he passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross closed the door to his office behind him with a sigh. It had been a long day running into night of meetings and arguments - sometimes overlapping - and he was looking forward to a few hours of quiet time to get caught up on the briefings that had come in while he was attending to more pressing business.

 

He didn't notice the woman waiting for him until he rounded his desk and saw her sitting opposite it. She wore a tailored pantsuit with an American flag brooch on her left shoulder

 

That she was short enough her head didn't peek over the back of the chair did nothing to alleviate the rage that flashed through him.

 

"How did you get in here?" Ross demanded.

 

"Through the door, as most people do," the woman replied in a tone that suggested that should have been obvious. "Really, Mr. Secretary, is that the best you could do?"

 

Despite the fact that he had to be at least a foot and a half taller than she was and outmass her by at least a hundred pounds, something in her tone, her very bearing, had Ross feeling as though he were on the defensive.

 

"Allow me to rephrase the question," he said. "Why the hell did Security let you in here?"

 

"They know me," she replied simply. "This is hardly my first time visiting this office."

 

"Maybe. But it'll be your last." Ross reached for the phone.

 

She _tsked_ at him. "Do you really think they'll throw me out after they let me in?"

 

And, dammit, she had him hooked. "Who are you, that they'd let you into my office in the first place?"

 

"Henrietta Lange," she answered.

 

Ross knew the name - anyone who'd been in the intelligence community for any amount of time did.

 

"Heard you were coasting toward retirement as an _operations manager_ , of all things," Ross said when the silence drew out and he had to say _something_. "What brings you all the way to D.C.?"

 

"A little business, a little pleasure," she replied. "The business first, of course."

 

"Of course." Ross gave an internal sigh as he gave in to the inevitable and took a seat behind his desk. "What business do you have with me?"

 

"Ordinarily, none," Lange admitted. "NCIS reports to SECNAV, and then to SECDEF."

 

"I'm aware of the chain of command," Ross snapped.

 

"I'm very glad of that." And damn if she didn't manage to sound condescending even with a normal tone of voice. "However, these circumstances are anything but ordinary. You see, you had two of my agents tortured."

 

Ross didn't have to think about his response. "That's preposterous!"

 

"Yes, it is," Lange agreed immediately. "And I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't have proof."

 

 _Proof._ Strange how one word could make him wary. He'd made some tough calls since he'd become Secretary of State - hell, he'd made tough calls even while he was in the Army - including the Sokovia Accords. Some of those calls wouldn't play well with the media or the voters, he knew, if _proof_ of them got out. So he had to wonder, just what _proof_ did she think she had?

 

She gave him an enigmatic smile that reminded him uncomfortably of one he'd seen the Black Widow use and reached into the messenger bag at her side. She withdrew a manila folder and slipped out of her chair so she could place the folder on his desk.

 

"The proof," she said. "In case you doubted."

 

Ross scowled at her but pulled the folder to him and opened it. What he saw made his gut clench and his throat tighten.

 

There were photos of two men, one big and African-American, the other wiry and Caucasian. Each of them had his arms tied over his head to … bunk beds? Yes, those were bunk beds, like he'd seen in barracks during his earliest days in the Army. Their feet - he swallowed hard. They were standing in washbasins that Ross knew would have held water, the better to conduct electricity.

 

As if that weren't enough, both men's bodies were covered in bruises - or so he assumed, even though the black man's skin made the bruises difficult to discern. If he'd been treated anything like his companion, his chest, torso and legs were fast becoming one large bruise.

 

Ross swallowed once, twice, and couldn't look up from the photos when he asked, "Who -?"

 

"Those, Mr. Secretary, are Agents Sam Hanna and G Callen."

 

Now Ross tore his gaze from the photos to stare at Lange, the denial springing instantly to his lips. "No, it can't be."

 

"Why are you so certain?" The question wasn't accusatory, merely curious, and something in her manner made an old lawyer's dictum come back to him: _Never ask a question you don't already know the answer to._

 

"Because I asked that they be detained, not captured," Ross said. "They were to be treated as guests of the Romanian government."

 

"And that was your biggest mistake," Lange said. "You didn't read Agent Callen's file."

 

"How do you know that?"

 

"I'd wager you didn't read Agent Hanna's file, either, but it is Agent Callen's that is at issue here." Her smile now was that of a predator. "If you had read it, you would know that Agent Callen was born in Romania, and a Romanian crime family declared a blood feud against his."

 

Ross didn't bother to keep his disbelief from his tone when he asked, "You're saying this … _crime family_ took over the Romanian government?"

 

"You disappoint me, Mr. Secretary." Lange sat down again. "I'm saying nothing of the sort. However, a little research showed that a member of that crime family - a distant cousin, I believe - has risen to some prominence in the Romanian government. Enough prominence, I might add, to force Agents Callen and Hanna to be given over to him. You see the result."

 

Ross couldn't tear his eyes from the photos. By the look of them, those agents were close to death. "It was never my intent for them to come to harm."

 

"I believe you," Lange said. "But that does raise the question, what exactly was your intent?"

 

Ross smiled tightly. "That, Ms. Lange, is need-to-know. And you don't."

 

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I figured it out all by myself."

 

Now Ross looked away from the photos to glare at her. The photos were bad, yes, and he regretted what had happened to those two men, but he might yet get what he wanted - Clint Barton, Hawkeye, and with him, Captain America and the rest of the Avengers who'd gone rogue and refused to sign the Accords.

 

"Perhaps you found out that Agent Callen escorted a certain person's family out of the country," Lange began, apparently unaffected by the glare he sent her way. "Regardless of the fact that neither they nor he did anything illegal, perhaps you believed threatening him would lure out that certain person, and perhaps even some of that person's friends."

 

Ross suddenly found himself grateful that he hadn't had dinner yet. His stomach had started to burble enough that he wouldn't be able to keep down anything he ate. Still, he forced a severe expression. "Pure speculation."

 

"As Secretary of State, of course, you could certainly ask a favor of your counterpart in a friendly country - say, Romania - to assist you in drawing that certain person into your trap." Lange's voice had gone cold. "Regardless, again, of the fact that Agent Callen did nothing illegal - and even if he had, certainly Agent Hanna did not. Are you familiar with Agent Hanna's file, Mr. Secretary?"

 

Ross gritted his teeth. She'd already made it clear that he'd failed in his preparatory work. Still he could only admit, "No."

 

"He is a highly decorated Navy SEAL who has since come to work for NCIS. Subjecting such a man - such a citizen, such a patriot - to torture for no reason…" Lange shook her head. "It reflects poorly on your judgment."

 

There was nothing he could say in response that wouldn't play into her hands. Instead, he switched tactics. "Will Agents Callen and Hanna recover?"

 

"We have every hope that they will - for which you should be grateful."

 

"I am," Ross said and he didn't have to fake sincerity. "It's good to know that an error in judgment didn't cost them their lives."

 

Beneath the conversation with Henrietta Lange, Ross' mind whirled. If both men recovered, he might get out of this without too much trouble. The Secretary of Defense was a friend, and would, if he asked, order the agents not to talk to anyone about what had happened. Ross' position would be safe.

 

"You misunderstand, Mr. Secretary. You should be grateful they will recover, because otherwise you would have received very different visitors."

 

Ross scoffed. "Some hotshot lawyers looking to bring a wrongful death action?"

 

Lange smiled. "You would wish for that."

 

"Instead of what?"

 

"A visit from Agent Hanna's wife and Agent Callen's girlfriend. Both of them are quite deadly - and quite upset at the treatment their men have received because of you and your vendetta against men and women who were serving this country - indeed, the world - as best they knew how."

 

Ross would have to look up Hanna's wife. Callen's girlfriend… he swallowed. He'd heard rumors that the Black Widow had been taking a lot of time off from the Avengers compound. No one knew where she was going - or at least, no one would admit to knowing - or what she was doing when she got there.

 

Ross had been certain from the beginning that Romanoff was behind Callen escorting Barton's family out of the country, even if he'd had no idea how the two knew each other. Now, he found himself wondering if she was the girlfriend Lange referred to. If so, then he truly had dodged a bullet - or a Widow's Bite - when Callen survived.

 

Lange slid down from her chair once again and hefted the strap of her messenger bag over her head so the bag hung cross-body from her shoulder before she turned a slow circle to survey the office.

 

"It was much more tastefully decorated when I had tea with Heinz," she observed.

 

Ross frowned. "Heinz? Who's Heinz?"

 

She fixed him with a disapproving glare. "Surely you know your predecessors in this office?"

 

"I don't remember anyone named Heinz."

 

Lange smiled again, a Mona Lisa smile that irrationally made Ross want to punch her. "My mistake. By the time he held this office, he'd been going by Henry for many, many years."

 

"Henry … _Kissinger_?" Ross stared at her. She was a legend in the intelligence community, but she couldn't have been more than thirty by the time Kissinger left office. What had she done to have had tea with Kissinger in this office?

 

"Mm." Lange crossed to the door, then paused with her hand on the knob. "You might find the late news to be of some interest."

 

The door closed behind her, and Ross stared at the photos again. The men's faces had been obscured, but even so it was clear they had been subjected to torture and were in significant pain. He told himself he'd had no idea that something like this would happen, but it sounded as weak, as lame, in his head as it would in the press.

 

He'd have to cover this up, somehow …

 

Lange's parting words lingered. _You might find the late news to be of some interest._

 

Almost against his will, Ross found himself reaching for the remote-control unit that would turn on the television in the far corner of his office. He rarely turned it on except when something of significance was happening somewhere in the world - otherwise, there were too many talkers, not enough thinkers or doers - but Lange's comment suggested that something significant was about to happen.

 

The newscast was just beginning when the picture on the screen resolved into clarity.

 

The camera focused on a middle-aged woman who smiled briefly and said, "Welcome to ZNN's Late News Show. I'm Carolyn Koehler. In breaking news, though it is barely 6:00 a.m. in Wakanda, T'Challa, the new King of Wakanda, has called a press conference to speak about the Sokovia Accords. We are taking you there live."

 

After a moment of screen static, the image resolved to a scene not unlike when the president chose to address the nation - a podium held pride of place, Wakanda's seal displayed on it, and behind it a tapestry woven in colors representing all the tribes of Wakanda. Ross only knew what the tapestry represented because he'd briefly spoken to the young king shortly after the death of the previous king, his father T'Chaka.

 

After a few moments during which the only sound coming from the television was the rustle of fabric and paper as reporters shifted position and waited, King T'Challa took up position behind the podium. He wore a formal suit, with a tribal wrap draped over one shoulder, and despite his relative youth, he had a commanding presence.

 

"Good morning, and thank you for coming out so early," he said in lilting English. "There will be a question and answer period after, so I ask you please to hold your questions until then."

 

The king paused to look into the camera, and Ross felt as though the king were looking directly at him. "It is after a great deal of reflection and consultation with my council that I announce Wakanda's withdrawal from the Sokovia Accords."

 

The assembled reporters might be holding their questions, but that didn't mean they silently accepted King T'Challa's words. But that was okay - their exclamations gave Ross time to recover.

 

The king's words hit him like a punch to the gut. It had been King T'Chaka's death, after all, that galvanized an otherwise reluctant populace to back the Accords. If Wakanda backed out, what of other countries?

 

"Please," the king said on screen, and after a moment, the crowd quieted. "Further, due to recent events, Wakanda offers asylum to any enhanced individuals who choose not to sign the Accords."

 

If the announcement that Wakanda was withdrawing from the Accords had set the reporters buzzing, the announcement of asylum was met with an eruption, and Ross sank back into his chair. How could this have happened?

 

Finally, Ross heard one masculine voice cut across the din, "What recent events, Your Highness?"

 

The question silenced the room, and T'Challa said, "That explanation is perhaps best presented by another. Captain?"

 

There was only one captain the king could mean, and still Ross's fists clenched as Steve Rogers - in full Captain America gear, except the helmet - take the king's place at the podium.

 

"Thank you, Your Highness," Rogers said before facing the reporters. "As you know, I opposed the Accords because I feared they would be used to force the Avengers to do things they did not agree with or, worse, to prevent us from doing the right thing because it was politically wrong. What's really happened is far worse than either of those."

 

Rogers paused for those words to sink in, and offscreen Ross heard more rustling.

 

"I should warn you, the photos you're being given are graphic," Rogers said, and Ross knew in his gut that they were copies of the photos Lange had left on his desk. The chances of his escaping this debacle with his position intact were steadily falling, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

"Who are these men?" A woman asked, her voice shaky.

 

"These men are American citizens," Rogers answered. "One a Navy veteran, and both currently agents for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, whose primary mandate is investigating criminal activities involving members of the United States Navy and Marine Corps. They were working on an arms-smuggling case when they were detained by Romanian authorities at the request of the United States Department of State."

 

The room erupted, and Ross stabbed the button to turn off the TV. He had no need to watch the details of the end of his career.

 

And it would be the end of his career, one way or another. Though he'd never ordered, never intended Callen, much less Hanna, to be tortured, that's what the public would believe - and they would be right, to the extent that if he'd never ordered Callen to be detained, he would never have been tortured.

 

The best Ross could do now was exit gracefully and hope his resignation would satisfy those who would be out for blood.


	6. Chapter 6

G came awake slowly, with the fuzzy-headedness he associated with strong pain killers. Some kind of hospital, maybe? But one without a strong antiseptic smell. He lay still, keeping his eyes closed but stretching out his other senses.

 

For long moments, all he heard was the low hum of machinery. Finally, G risked opening one eye. Given the number of times G and Sam had sat vigil at each other's bedsides, G wasn't surprised when he saw a black person leaning over him.

 

He was surprised that it wasn't Sam, or even Michelle. Instead it was a young woman. She looked familiar, but through the haze of pain not quite dulled by pain killers it wasn't until she smiled that G recognized her and let both his eyes open.

 

"Princess." He said, and his voice rasped out of his throat.

 

"Agent Callen." She smiled again and offered G an ice chip. While he let the chip melt in his mouth and she worked at the machine beside his bed, G surveyed his surroundings, from the leads running from his body to the machine where Princess Shuri worked to the casts on one arm and one leg and the bandages around his ribs to the monitor at the foot of the bed, to more equipment than he could name.

 

 _The highest of high-tech hospitals_ , he concluded. _Therefore, Wakanda._

 

He hadn't needed medical facilities on his last trip, but he'd seen them on the tour Barton gave him.

 

"Sam?" he asked when he thought he could speak clearly.

 

"I let him know you're awake," Shuri replied. "So he should be here any -"

 

"We need _words_ , G." Sam strode into the room, and despite his somewhat scowly expression, G thought he'd never been as happy to see his partner as he was now.

 

But of course he hid that behind their usual banter. "We almost never _need_ words. And even if we need them now, do we need them _now_?"

 

Then Michelle appeared behind him. "I tried to stop him, G."

 

"Not very hard," G grumbled, knowing she'd accept it as the teasing he meant. Then he gave an internal sigh and gave in. "Why do we need _words_ , Sam?"

 

"Because you said you might hallucinate Michelle," Sam said. "My _wife_."

 

G glanced at Shuri and saw that she shared his amusement. Then he regarded Sam seriously. "Are you saying your wife isn't worthy of being hallucinated? I'd be insulted if I were you, Michelle."

 

"Don't deflect, G, it won't work," Sam declared. "The only one who should be hallucinating my wife is _me_."

 

G thought he needed fewer painkillers to be having this conversation. Or maybe more. In either event, he said, "Are you sure you should be out of bed? Because you're not making any sense."

 

"Relax, Sam." The new voice made G's pulse jump, and he could only be glad that this hospital didn't have a noisy monitor to ping out his excitement at seeing Natasha, his Bella, slinking into the room. "He'll hallucinate me from now on."

 

"I will?" G asked.

 

"You'd better." She came closer to his bed, giving Sam a glare that didn't quite hide her amusement.

 

G grinned, then frowned. "Wait - where's Gibbs? He was there, right? I didn't actually hallucinate him, did I?"

 

"He was there," Michelle said. "But he was never _here_."

 

"You weren't, either," G pointed out. Michelle just smiled, and G let it go. Obviously, he'd missed a lot and would have to catch up on things later.

 

"I let you see him because you needed to, but now you need to get out of my medical center," Shuri said. She, too, was smiling to rob the words of any insult.

 

"Sorry," Sam muttered, then looked at G more seriously. "You good?"

 

"Getting there," G answered.

 

"We'll be back later." Michelle came forward to kiss his cheek. "And you can hallucinate me all you like, as long as Natasha doesn't object."

 

Then Sam and Michelle were gone, and Shuri finished whatever she was doing and regarded G gravely. "I'm afraid you will be bedridden for at least six -"

 

"Months?" G groaned. "Not again."

 

"Hours," Shuri finished.

 

"Six _hours_?" G stared at her. He knew Wakanda had some advanced technology, but the thought that his injuries might be healed in six hours brought home that knowledge in a visceral way.

 

"I can keep you here six months if you prefer." The light in Shuri's eyes belied her serious tone.

 

"No," G said fervently. "I'll take six hours. I'll even be calm and cooperative for six hours."

 

"Of course you will," Shuri said. "I'll sedate you if you aren't, just as I did Agent Hanna."

 

"Michelle let you sedate him?"

 

"She helped." Natasha sounded amused. "And I'll help if I have to."

 

"You won't," G promised. "Be here when I wake up?"

 

"Of course."

 

~ - ~ - ~ - ~

 

When G woke again, he felt immeasurably better. Still not one hundred percent, but less like he'd been tortured for days. And he wasn't alone. There, curled beside him, was Natasha.

 

He smiled and started to wake her, but before his fingers could do more than twitch, the door to his room slid open and a swarm of children rushed in with a chorus of, "Uncle Callen!"

 

Okay, maybe _swarm_ wasn't the right term, but Kamran Hanna and Lila Cooper dashed toward him, each with enough energy for several children. G braced himself for impact, but they stopped before they got to his bed.

 

"Are you okay, Uncle Callen?" Kamran asked.

 

G flexed his muscles and stretched, only then realizing that the casts he'd worn before were gone, as was the bandage around his ribs. He hurt, but it was the healing-sore kind of hurt, not the painful I-want-to-die hurt he'd felt while he was in Romania.

 

"I think so," G answered finally.

 

"Good!" Someone, probably Michelle, had warned her to avoid his ribs, because Kamran flung her arms around G's neck and held tight for long minutes. "I don't like it when you and Daddy get hurt," she mumbled into his neck.

 

"We don't like it either, I promise." G rubbed her back until finally she stepped away. G pretended not to notice her wiping tears from her eyes.

 

He looked at Lila, expecting similar treatment, but she stood away, a lot like Natasha had when he'd woken up the first time.

 

"Lila?" G prompted.

 

"I'm sorry, Uncle Callen."

 

He'd never expected her to say that. "For what?"

 

"It's because you brought us here to Daddy that you were hurt," Lila said. "And I'm sorry you were hurt because of us."

 

"Oh, Lila." G opened his arms. "C'mere. It's okay," he added when she didn't move. "Please."

 

Finally, Lila took one step forward, but it was close enough for G to stretch and catch her hand - _huh, expected that to hurt more than it did_ \- and tug her into a hug.

 

"You didn't do this, Lila," G told her. "You didn't hurt me."

 

"But -"

 

"No buts. The men who hurt me and Sam are bad men, and bad men don't need a reason to hurt people. They just do it. Don't let them make you feel bad for what they did, okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

G didn't know whether Lila meant it or was just agreeing because he'd asked. Still, he hugged her tighter before letting her go.

 

"We've tried to tell her that."

 

G had been so focused on comforting Lila that he hadn't seen Laura and Barton in the doorway to his room. Now he smiled at Laura's concerned expression.

 

"Maybe she'll listen to you," Laura added.

 

"Probably not," G said. "If she's as stubborn as her father."

 

"Hey, now, I resemble that remark," Barton said. "But I'll have you know Laura's twice as stubborn as I am."

 

G didn't respond as Laura crossed the room to him and it was her turn, apparently, to hug him.

 

"I'm glad you're okay," she said, and her glance flicked to Natasha, who lay still beside him. She was feigning sleep, G knew, and suspected Laura knew it, too. "But we should let you rest now."

 

"I feel fine," G said, and it wasn't a lie. Whatever Shuri had done, whatever medical miracles Wakanda contained, he was certain he could report for duty tomorrow if needed and not be a hindrance to his team.

 

Laura chuckled. "I'm sure you do. Maybe I should've said, we should leave you _alone_."

 

"That would've been more accurate," Barton agreed. "Callen? Shovel talk given."

 

G felt his eyebrows rise, but all he said was, "Shovel talk received."

 

Not that he needed it, he thought. However he felt about Natasha, she'd made it clear that they were only ever going to be casual with each other. Nothing serious, nothing permanent. G accepted her decision, even if it left him feeling hollow inside.

 

"See you later, Uncle Callen," Kamran said. Then she grabbed Lila's hand and tugged her away.

 

The Bartons followed the girls, and G lay back against the bed without reaching for Natasha as he'd started to.

 

"Raven." Her voice was the only indication he'd had that she was awake.

 

"You're here," he said, and then kicked himself for stating the obvious.

 

"I said I would be."

 

"You did." G rolled onto his side so he faced her. Some line of tension in her body kept him from reaching for her. "I owe you my life. And Sam's."

 

"Or maybe I finally paid you back for Budapest," Natasha countered. "Or maybe friends don't keep track of such things."

 

"Except to tease each other," G corrected, hoping his light tone hid the hurt her words had caused. _Truth hurts_ , he thought wryly.

 

"It will be a long time before I'm ready to tease you about this."

 

Natasha's tone had turned more serious than G remembered hearing it since - well, since Budapest. He searched her expression for clues to whatever emotion might lie behind that seriousness but wasn't surprised when he found none.

 

 _Only way to find out is to ask._ "Natasha?"

 

"Natasha, now? Not Bella?"

 

"You're a little too serious to be Bella right now. What's wrong?"

 

She looked down at the blanket covering him, smoothed it absently. "In the Red Room -"

 

G stilled, barely breathing. He knew what the Red Room was, though she'd only spoken of it once or twice in the dark of night when they lay together, open to each other in ways G never anticipated. For her to bring the Red Room up now, whatever she had to say must be very important, and he would try to be as open as he could be.

 

"They trained us - brainwashed us - to think that nothing was, nothing could ever be, more important than the mission. Even -" she paused.

 

"Sterlizing you," G finished quietly. She'd told him that early in their relationship, when he'd asked about birth control.

 

"Yes." She flicked her gaze to him, then back down to where she had moved from smoothing the blanket to running her hand over his arm. "Then I met Clint, and I started to understand that maybe they were wrong."

 

"Natasha." G caught her hand in his, then swore softly at the pulse monitor on his finger that impeded the gesture. His fumbling was worthwhile, though, because she smiled.

 

"Clint was the first," Natasha said. "Then his family. Then the Avengers - and now you. I'm not the perfect spysassin anymore."

 

"Spysassin?"

 

"Cooper came up with it." She blew out a breath. "I'm compromised, G."

 

G swallowed and squeezed her hand. "In the best possible way."

 

Natasha looked at him dubiously. "How can you know it's best?"

 

"Has to be," G answered. "Because I am, too. Same way. Have been for a long time."

 

She stared at him, her expression cautiously hopeful. He smiled at her and tugged on her hand. She bent forward, bracing her arm on the bed railing, and their lips met.

 

"Я люблю тебя, Bella," he said against her lips.

 

"And I love you, my Raven."


End file.
